


Paternal Blessing

by Arithanas



Category: Zorro (TV 1957)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a father must exhibit a great deal of "tough love".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paternal Blessing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



> My gratitude to [ Framlingem ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem) for the beta work.

Diego groaned and leaned on Tornado’s neck, waiting for his heart to stop beating his chest with the proverbial force of the horse’s kick. His shaking hand took off the wide-brimmed hat before it slid from his head. Retrieving it from the ground would be an unpleasant task; he was not sure he could return to the saddle if he alighted now. His fingers fumbled until he found the horn and he latched the string onto it.

A cold draft of wind ran over the silk of his mask. It was a horrible night. The southern wet gale from the coast had brought dark clouds that didn’t manage to burst into rain…

His thoughts were distracted because his horse neighed and pawed at the ground. Tornado was getting ready to rear as he was wont to do after they managed to escape from Monasterio’s men with a wild race among the sierra’s deserted roads and shrubs. Diego patted the beast on the side, trying to appease it; he was not ready to ride toward the hacienda, not yet.

Diego shifted his weight on the saddle and that movement brought a renewed assault of pain to his side. He might have cracked his ribs when he slipped from the damp clay roof tile to that broken corn sacks. His initial calculation might be a bit off on the unsafe side; at least his sudden disappearance from the roof helped him to get away.

“Come on, Tornado,” Diego said after a sigh, “let’s go home…”

A short snort full of disbelief was the answer and the hooves sound on the gravel, but Diego had no time to mind his horse’s discontent; his mind was already trying to figure out a way to conceal this most recent hurt from anyone but Bernardo.

***

Morning came too soon.

Diego groaned; he was pretty certain that his ribs were not cracked, but broken. Bernardo, as usual, reached to him and his fingers probed the bruised flesh before shaking his head. Diego was not in the mood to speak. He just held his left hand vertically and made the sign of winding something around it. That was enough to put the faithful servant to work. A tight bandage was wound around Diego’s chest before a clean cotton shirt with ruffles and the short vest were fitted against the aching ribcage.

Soon, both were on the patio of the _rancho;_ Diego, clad in his light blue suit with pretty tight dark sash, tried his hand at the strings of the guitar but the effort to keep the posture was too much for his injured body. Then he tried to walk through the small garden, but even with the overcast sky, that proved to be a monumental effort. Inside, he was praying, hoping that Monasterio settle for some days and give him enough time to lick his wounds.

Midday gave enough proof that Diego de la Vega didn’t ask for troubles but troubles always found him.

Don Alejandro, having found Commander Monasterio on his rancho boundaries, invited him to quench his thirst, and his men’s thirst, at the _rancho;_ Diego, later, reckoned the reason behind the offer was to delay whichever plan the Commander had deemed worthy of pursuit.

Not too long after, Don Alejandro, Monasterio, and Don Diego sat inside the _casa grande_ , sipping wine and trying to extract any information from the Commander.

***

When they returned to the patio, Diego noticed Bernardo was telling Sergeant Garcia a story, he pretending that he was holding a book and he was walking into something stationary. The good sergeant laughed wholeheartedly at the amusing story.

“What is it, _Sargento?”_

“Oh, Don Diego!” Sergeant Garcia was still laughing. “Your man here has enough charm to do storytelling without any words!”

“And what was the story about?” Monasterio asked, gruffly. He never spoke to Garcia in any other way.

Sergeant Garcia stood up in attention and saluted in a rather awkward fashion.True to his role, Bernardo mimicked the martial salutation to the point of imitating a protruding belly. Diego couldn’t help but smile at the charade.

 _“Comandante,_ Don Diego’s servant was reporting that Don Diego had a funny accident, and I say this with respect and affection, Don Diego…”

“Should I reckon it was nothing of consequence?”

Monasterio’s eyes weighed heavily on Diego, but that couldn’t hold a candle to the burning eyes of Don Alexandro.

“Just a bit of bruising. While reading, I ran into a…” Diego eyed Bernardo who was making discreet hand gestures to explain the story, “table?”

Bernardo could barely prevent his hands from making an exasperated sign. It was a great fortune no one was heeding him.

“Who cares what you managed to trip over this time?” Don Alejandro’s voice sound hurt, “You don’t understand, _Comandante,_ what it is to have a son unable to do a single manly thing, who believes himself too frail to ride a horse and to whom the mere thought of steel can produce hives… Don’t waste the _Comandante’s_ time with your nonsense, Diego!”

Diego believed he was steeled enough against his father’s contempt, but those words were a stab on his heart; the blunt force of his words couldn’t be mitigated. Even Bernardo’s hands, flying in distressed disbelief to the brim of his ridiculously small hat couldn’t make his ache go away. He kept his silence and followed his father with his eyes on the ground, without hearing the departing ritual, and the hooves on the packed earth walking away from the rancho.

“There is no excuse for my words, my son,” Don Alejandro said as Monasterio’s horse passed the gates, his tail hanging low as a defeat flag. “When a hot-blooded man has a feeling stuck between his chest and his back it is meant to be expressed with all the vehemence it merits, and my disappointment shouldn’t be contained a moment longer. A father cannot bear this sort of disordered, thoughtless conduct without a word!”

“But, Father…”

“My son, those hateful words, I would return them with my sword. You must know that they are born out of love, for your safety’s sake,” Don Alejandro’s hand rested on Diego’s shoulder in a surprisingly kind caress that negated the effect of that icy grip on Diego’s heart. “Because I know that under your mask, you are bursting with fine qualities. Mind your step from now on.”

Bernardo peeked under the brim of his crushed hat, and Diego took it as a confirmation, his ears had not deceived him.

“I’ll heed your advice, father,” Diego whispered, completely mollified by that sudden confession obscured under unexpected kindness. “As I do with all the good words you condescend to address to me.”

“May God bless you and your work, my son,” Don Alejandro said and started to move toward the house.

With brisk gait Bernardo rejoined his master; he was almost jumping and clapping. Diego found himself smiling without realizing exactly what he was doing. Bernardo took a pose and gave some thrusts into the air before pointing Don Alejandro’s figure and opened his eyes really wide. For good measure, the faithful Bernardo signaled his eyes with both middle and index fingers and pointing them towards the elder gentleman.

“Yes, Bernardo, my friend,” agreed Diego, “I believe he does”.

A swift sign of the cross was made over the air; a couple of shoulders were raised.

“It is not strange at all that the old fox celebrate the first chickens of the cub, I suppose.”

Bernardo smiled and patted his master’s back.


End file.
